


eyes more bright

by neriine



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neriine/pseuds/neriine
Summary: Prompt: 'Lefou and Stanley meet for the first time and it's love at first sight for Stanley. Lefou is in awe of the confident young man, but in truth Stanley is a nervous wreck.'In which Stanley has some disagreements with an awl, Lefou handles emotions well, and the great mystery of stay lacing is deciphered.





	1. avant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [androgynoussoulconnoisseur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgynoussoulconnoisseur/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lefou returns. Stanley falls in more than one way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For androgynoussoulconnoisseur! I hope it's to your liking!

_Lefou_  


The peace left after the war felt like another wound. It was, Lefou mused, almost like a missing limb. Somehow easy to forget that it wasn’t there until you came back to yourself with a jolt, echoing with pain and left with a hollow space you had no idea how to fill.  
Not that he missed the war – no, that was Gaston. The quiet evenings on the road back to Villeneuve, though, were such a jarring contrast to the bloodied chaos of the battlefield that Lefou hardly knew what to do. Most nights he just stared into the fire, letting Gaston’s familiar timbre wash over him and desperately ignoring his gory tales. He found himself in the old routines of the army, covering their tracks every morning and sitting on guard each night.

Gaston laughed at him.

He laughed too. How silly he was! Gaston could protect both of them. He was the hero, after all.

Villeneuve sat as it always had, below the hills to the world around, untouched and eternal. Lefou could faintly see the familiar landmarks he’d grown up knowing so well. It felt like he’d been away for centuries.

‘It feels so strange to be home-‘ Lefou turned to Gaston, but he’d dug in his spurs and was already halfway down the path to the town gates. With a sigh, Lefou pushed his own horse forward and followed. Gaston didn’t slow as he approached the market. ‘Gaston- can you slow-‘

‘Do you think Belle will have changed much?’ Gaston admired his teeth in the polished silverware hanging in the market. Lefou sighed quietly. Without the distractions of the battlefield – blood, violence, and meaningless one-night trysts with grieving widows and camp followers alike ( _meaningless_ , Lefou had repeated to himself through gritted teeth from the tent next door) – Gaston’s mind had turned back to the inventor’s clever young daughter. As they’d neared Villeneuve, Gaston’s voiced fantasies had grown in number.  _‘She’ll marry me soon enough, old friend,’_ he’d spouted with glee from his horse while Lefou dug their cart out of the muddy ruts in the road. ' _Do you think our first son will have her eyes or mine?'_ he'd ask - mainly to himself - after catching a glimpse of himself in his metal buttons. 

Lefou was sure Gaston's infatuation with Belle would die down once she'd rejected him enough. Surely he wouldn't spend too long fruitlessly hanging around when there was so much else to do in the world. Surely.

The villagers bustling about the market dropped stiff greetings to Gaston as he met their eyes. Lefou reckoned it was the captaincy that had made them - in his eyes - so reverent of Gaston. When they recognised Lefou, however, their eyes lit up and they called out a cheerful welcome as they passed. Lefou smiled back in self-deprecation. He was happy to be the butt of jokes if it made everyone around him happy. Probably they were pleased to see their village fool back from the war and ready to make them laugh again.  

A flash of pastel caught Lefou’s attention. The milliner’s at the corner had certainly changed in management while they had been away – gone was the drab shopfront, with its sober tricorns and dowdy pinners. Instead, the freshly-painted shelves held the latest soft bonnets  _a la mode Parisienne_  (or, at least, something a shade  _closer_ to the fashions of Paris than Villeneuve was used to).

As Lefou observed the shop, he realised its occupants were observing him right back – well, they were observing  _Gaston._ The three girls were twirling their black ringlets, gasping and giggling and peeking out from the shop windows whenever Gaston’s sweeping gaze fell upon them.

Eurgh.

Lefou’s knuckles turned white around his reins. Before he could call to Gaston and distract him, though, the milliner – their mother? – had gently rapped them on the shoulders and sent them back to work. She was accompanied by- by-

Well.

The young man with her had a bolt of buckram balanced on each hip. He moved around the workshop with calm purpose: stowing the fabric; sweeping pins back into caddies; tucking an awl carefully behind his ear. The metal tool glistered like a hairpin amongst his dark curls.

His hair was the same colour as the girls’. Lefou hoped he was a brother, and not a husband.

… _hoped?_ He shook his head, as if he could throw off the sudden thought like he would a gnat. He had Gaston. His partner in heroics (and, more than occasionally, crime).

‘…and so I’m off to call on Belle!’ Lefou winced, and swore under his breath. He'd missed half of Gaston's words because he was too busy mooning over some beautiful shop boy. By the time Lefou had turned to reply to Gaston, he'd leapt off his horse, thrust the reins into Lefou's slack hand, and taken off down the road. 

Lefou sighed. He was always left trailing after Gaston.  
He patted Gaston’s horse on the nose, then led both to tether their reins. He might as well greet the newer additions to Villeneuve while Gaston once again failed to woo Belle.

The milliner was hovering near the door when he entered.

‘Bonjour Monsieur!’  
‘Bonjour! It’s splendid to meet you!’ Lefou bowed deeply, kissing the hand of the older lady. ‘Both I and my companion-‘ he gestured to Gaston’s swiftly receding form. ‘-have only just returned from the war. Such a shame we missed your arrival in Villeneuve, Madamoiselle…?’  
The milliner blushed happily.

‘ _Madame_ Vivienne. My children and I moved here only a few months ago.’ She curtseyed. ‘It is an honourable thing to fight for our country. Our thanks, Monsieur.’

‘It’s- just call me Lefou. Everyone else does, ‘round here.’

‘Why?’

Lefou started. The young man from before, now holding a spool of ribbon, was leaning against the doorframe. His eyebrow was quirked, and his full lips were set in a neutral line.

Lefou laughed a little nervously.

‘I suppose I earned it growing up, and it stuck. I did – I do – a lot of foolish things, so it’s a fitting name.’

‘You don’t strike me as a fool.’ The end of the ribbon had come loose from the spool, and the young man was weaving it lazily around his long, clever fingers. The flash of the silk between his hands was – mesmerising.

‘Heh. Well. We  _have_ only just met. Give it time.’ Lefou gave another high-pitched giggle. ‘My friend – Gaston, you see?’ He fluttered his hands in the direction that Gaston had disappeared. ‘He’s a lot more – you know- interesting – than I am.’

Mme. Vivienne tutted disbelievingly.

‘I’m sure that’s not the case.’ She bobbed her head in a quick curtsey and hurried to speak to a waiting customer.

Lefou smiled after her, and let his gaze wander around the shop. There were embellishments and pins strewn across the worktables, and precariously piled stacks of fabrics spilling out from the storage room. It was ordered chaos, and it felt homely.  
Turning, he realised the young man was still standing there, his eyes piercing and dark.  
  
He jumped.

His battered, threadbare hat slipped from under his arm, and he fumbled to catch it before it hit the floor. When Lefou looked up, the man was wielding a tape measure decisively.

‘That thing’s about to fall to pieces.’ He looped the tape around Lefou’s head in a single deft movement. Lefou’s nose nearly brushed his neck. He could almost feel the heat radiating from his skin.

‘It’s still fine! Please, don’t bother yourself.’ Lefou protested weakly. The man just made some notes on a scrap of paper and shook his head.

‘Consider it a belated welcome gift.’

‘Oh! No!’ Lefou wrung his hands. ‘Surely it should be me gifting _you_ with something as a welcome gift?’  
The man – now rifling through a stack of wools – glanced at Lefou out of the corner of his eyes.  
‘I don’t need a new hat. _You_ do.’  
‘I really don’t think-‘  
‘My mother would be mortified if I didn’t insist.’ The man – definitely the girls’ brother, then – said firmly, as if that put the subject to rest. Lefou sighed. It wasn’t really worth getting into an argument over. He’d just have to find another way of paying for the hat.

The young man had moved to make some notes in the ledger, leaving Lefou standing awkwardly with his old hat clutched in his hands.

‘So…’  
‘Hmm?’  
‘Do you spend all your time working here? We – that is, Gaston and I – used to go on hunting trips into the woods. You’re welcome to join us.’  
He stopped writing. Lefou was entranced when he inelegantly chewed on his lip.  
‘Sometimes I help my uncle – do you know Tom?’ Lefou nodded. ‘– and his friend with their work. Maybe if they came along I would.’ He tossed his pen down.  
‘Tom and Dick sometimes join us, yes.’ Lefou smiled ‘It’d be nice to make some new friends!’  
The young man returned Lefou’s smile. It lit up his entire face and made Lefou’s stomach flip. He was so-  
Lefou pushed the feeling back down.

‘I’ll… get in touch when your hat’s ready.’  
Lefou nodded dumbly. In his hurry to leave the shop, he missed the door handle twice. As he let the door shut with a clatter, he heard the milliner call from inside to the young man.

‘Stanley! Fetch that lawn for me please!’

 _Stanley_. He exhaled.

* * *

 _Stanley_  


 'Who's  _that?'_ Eliana's breathy gasp from the window sent Elise and Eloise rushing over in a rustle of silks.   
Stanley rolled his eyes and set the crate of thread spools down on the nearest table. Mama needed the newest shipment of buckram before she could start on the day's caps. 

'Oh, he's so  _handsome_!' Eloise had her hand curved elegantly to her breast, like the fine ladies in the portraits. Stanley had caught her practicing her 'elegant lady' poses in her looking-glass enough times to know what this one meant. This was her 'swooning' pose. He thought it looked more like she was choking, or like a bone in her stays had slipped and was poking her.   
'He's  _looking this way!_ He definitely is!' A small scuffle broke out as Stanley's sisters tried to arrange themselves into a pose both nonchalant and irresistibly attractive. 

Stanley ducked into the store room to escape the embarrassing scene and carefully moved several bolts of linen to pull out two rolls of buckram. It had a stiff, scratchy texture. He let his fingers lightly trace the warp of a nearby bolt of blue changeable silk, scarce daring to even touch lest it snag. He wished there was more demand for beautiful hats rather than the mundane, durable linen caps and coifs most needed by their customers.   
He hefted the two bolts of the boring old buckram onto his hips and headed back into the shop. The girls were  _still_ staring at whichever poor, supposedly handsome man had stumbled into Villeneuve. 

'Girls!' Mama sent them away from the window with a stern tap on the shoulder. 

They dispersed unwillingly, sending longing glances back to the window with nearly every step. Stanley used the time they were wasting to return things to order - the fabric that had been used yesterday, some pins that had been knocked over, a spare awl without a home. He tucked the awl behind his ear while he worked. 

He wondered what the girls' fuss had been about. The man he saw leaping off his horse and striding away was above average, yes, but he was hardly anything special. Anyway, he'd just abandoned his horse in the middle of the market with- 

With- 

With the most beautiful man Stanley had seen in his life. He froze so quickly that the jarring stop knocked the awl from behind his ear. It caught his arm in its fall. The sudden pain registered as if from behind a veil from Stanley. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the man fumbling with two sets of reins. He was rosy from the confusion, and Stanley felt the bizarre urge to go and feel his cheeks to see if they were as warm as they looked.   
His skin looked so soft. 

He hurried back into the store room to return some ribbon to its shelf. Stanley needed to get a grip. Just because he was gorgeous and charming, and had a dazzling smile, and shining eyes - that didn’t mean he was _available_ or _interested._ He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.  _No._ He'd just met him. They hadn't even been introduced-

'-Just call me Lefou!' The man's words cut through Stanley's thoughts. This beautiful man called himself  _the madman?_ He returned to the shop immediately, with the spool of ribbon still in his hands. 

He barely registered what he was saying to the man – Lefou. A part of him was conscious that in his efforts not to gush at him like his sisters would, he must have appeared stiff and unfriendly.  
He fiddled with the ribbon nervously, letting it spill through his fingers. Was it as soft and sleek as Lefou’s hair? He doubted it. Though - it was a beautiful carmine red. Even if it couldn't compare to Lefou, it'd still shine jewel-bright in his hair.

Lefou mentioned a ‘Gaston’. Across the square, Stanley could faintly see him hammering hopelessly on Maurice the inventor’s door.

‘ _Gaston…’_ Elise murmured under her breath.

He looked more like a fool to Stanley than Lefou did.

The doorbell jingled, and Mama stepped away to help the customer. Lefou had started to look around the shop – Stanley admired the soft curve of his neck, and the soft spill of dark waves that framed it. He bit his lip.  
His staring must have made Lefou uncomfortable, for he jumped when he realised. The grimy old hat that Lefou lost his grip on made Stanley suddenly angry. Why didn’t he have the best? He did deserve the best.

He’d seized the nearest tape measure and stepped close to measure Lefou for a better hat before he’d even thought about it.

This was a mistake.

He could feel Lefou’s breath against his neck. It tingled. The urge to pull Lefou into his arms was almost overwhelming. He smelt of horse, and smoke, and weeks of travel. It wasn’t an entirely pleasant scent, but it drew him in all the same. Stanley drew a shuddering breath, and tried not to drop the tape measure between his suddenly useless and clumsy hands.

He ignored Lefou’s protests about making him a new hat, even using his mother as an excuse – in reality, she’d probably only be upset with him if he were outright _rude_ to a customer (the cause of many arguments was whether Tom and Dick counted as customers or family. The number of rude jokes and crass jibes between the trio had either way earned Stanley a thick ear on more than one occasion).

He even agreed to spend time in the fool Gaston’s presence in the hope of seeing Lefou again. Even if he'd rather just go on a hunting trip with Lefou - or better yet, stay in the shop and show him around - the answering smile he received was too infectious to regret his choice. That smile made Stanley’s ears burn with heat. He rubbed them self-consciously, praying Lefou wouldn't notice. 

Even as Lefou left, the smile didn’t leave Stanley’s face. He leant on the table for a long moment, wistfully imagining spending more time with the man. He’d just got to the part of his daydream where he reached down to brush his lips against Lefou’s, when Mama called for him.

He jolted upright in sudden embarrassment, spun around to the storeroom, and promptly skidded on the awl he’d dropped on the floor. With a crash, he toppled backwards and landed with a thump.


	2. après

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lefou mourns the good old days. Stanley gets a splinter. Tom and Dick are far too hot for any of this nonsense.

_Lefou_  


They buried Gaston in the small church cemetery the same day the curse broke.

‘S’high summer again now,’ Tom had muttered gruffly, shouldering his portion of the grubby tarpaulin they’d used to wrap the corpse, ‘Sooner we get him in the ground the better – for everyone.’  
All the strength seemed to have left Lefou’s arms. He was left hovering impotently as Tom and Dick hauled what was left of Gaston away.

He didn’t feel half as sad as he should. Watching his partner – the other half of the duo, his comrade-in-arms, the man he’d admired so much – disappear down the dusty road back to Villeneuve left him merely with a sense of finality. The gnawing pit of  _wrongness_ that had slowly built up as Gaston became more and more violent in his quest for Belle was finally ebbing away.

Lefou found himself instead wondering where Stanley had gone.

Had he fled back down the road to Villeneuve? Most of the villagers had returned when they saw the spell break, but the last time he’d seen Stanley was in the chaos of fighting in the atrium of the palace. Even marred by Gaston’s manipulation, Stanley had still looked beautiful. With his cheeks flushed and delicate strands of sweat-dampened hair working their way out from his ribbon, Lefou could almost forget the wrathful snarl that had twisted Stanley’s face. Looking back now, that had scared him more than Gaston had. With Gaston, sudden fury was normal. To see someone like Stanley as inflamed as he had been felt... unnatural. Wrong. 

The weeks between the end of Lefou's world as he knew it and the Prince's celebratory ball were beyond chaotic. Lefou hardly even caught a glimpse of Stanley in the bustle of people repairing what they had broken in their mob rage. The reality of their missing loved ones returning was finally starting to sink in, and Lefou had had to step in and mediate more than one argument that had broken out over long-forgotten pet peeves. Things that were once the norm had been forgotten, and it would take a while yet before everyone felt comfortable again. Lefou spent his days helping out with repairs where necessary, but mostly comforting people wracked with guilt.  
For most, it felt like ingratitude to feel anger at those who had only just returned. The high-strung emotional atmosphere was suffocating by the day of the ball, and Lefou hoped a celebration would relieve some of that tension. 

 

Belle and her Prince seemed to shine in the light of the ballroom. It was an infectious kind of happiness, Lefou mused. He felt buoyant again, cheerfully spinning with whichever village girl cared to dance with him next. It helped that Stanley had finally reappeared, too. Lefou had yet to speak to him, but he'd caught his eye across the ballroom earlier and had received a small smile in response. When he had seen him last, he'd been lounging on a bench at the side of the room with Tom, Dick, and his mother. Lefou had danced with two of the three sisters - not that he could tell them apart - and they'd both been elegant dancers, if a little giggly. 

Lefou's mind wandered while he danced. He'd spent the last few weeks so caught up in his work that he'd barely mourned for Gaston. Now, though, he didn't feel any need to mourn him. Sometimes he felt a twinge of sadness for the way everything had been so  _easy_ before, but that wasn't really mourning  _Gaston._  There was a feeling of nostalgia for the way things used to be, but he preferred the here and now.It almost felt sacrilegious to say, but Lefou felt a lot more comfortable now Gaston was gone.

No one else seemed to feel that sad about Gaston's passing. The sisters had wept, that first day, but like any infatuation they had quickly forgotten and moved on to the next best thing. In fact, more people than ever seemed to feel comfortable approaching Lefou. He found himself in more conversations at the tavern than he'd ever been involved in when Gaston was around. He'd receive cheerful slaps on the back - and lower - and occasional free rounds of beer, with toasts to his health. Lefou was slowly coming to realise that the more admired of the old duo had been  _him,_ not Gaston. 

The step came in the dance to switch partners, and Lefou, still lost in his thoughts, automatically reached for his next partner. The strong arms he found himself swept up in were  _not_ what he was expecting.   
Stanley's expression was oddly intense - there was an almost glassy look in his eyes, and Lefou could see his jaw ever so slightly trembling. Their hold was far closer than what was appropriate for a ballroom, too. Lefou felt like he couldn't possibly let go - that it was only he and Stanley in the room, and they must stay close. Despite the sweltering heat of the room, Lefou found the closeness and warmth of Stanley's embrace to be - to be perfect. Was he...

No. 

Lefou firmly trampled on his unwelcome thought feed. Epiphanies about feelings could come later. He wanted to be able to remember this moment forever. 

Of course, the step to switch partners once again came around, and Stanley spun away to another dance partner. Throughout the rest of the night, though, Lefou kept meeting Stanley's eyes across the room. 

 

'Do you want some help with that?' Lefou hurried to take a corner of the box Stanley was struggling to carry across the marketplace. Oof. He could see why. 'What's  _in_ this?! It feels like a ton of bricks.'   
Stanley's lips quirked.   
'It could be. Uncle Tom asked me to put it by his door. I've no idea what's in it.'   
'Maybe it's gold.' Lefou teased.  
'Or maybe it's a whole stack of livres, and we're all rich now.' Stanley countered, stooping to drop the crate by Tom's door. He swore under his breath and shook his hand. Lefou saw purple grooves from the weight of the box across his fingers. Stanley suddenly hissed and squinted at his index finger.  
‘Here- let me-‘ Lefou caught Stanley’s hand. There was a fine splinter of wood caught in the pad of his finger. Lefou gently pulled it out. Immediately, a small bead of blood welled, and Stanley stuck his finger in his mouth.

Lefou tried not to stare at his lips. He failed.

‘Are you alright?’ And he’d been caught. He startled guiltily, shifting from foot to foot.  
‘Oh! Me? Fine! Is your finger okay? We won’t have to amputate?’ Lefou waggled his eyebrows. Stanley chuckled.  
‘I think I’ll live.’  
‘You say that, but I once had this friend. Got a splinter one week, the next he had red stripes running all the way up his arm. He had to have it completely off!’ Lefou waved a hand near his shoulder to show where the arm had been cut.  
‘The whole thing? For a splinter?’  
‘Well, maybe it was a bit closer to the elbow than  _that_.’  
Stanley laughed again. It was a glorious sound. Lefou couldn’t get enough of it.  
He bumped Lefou with his hip, knocking him off-balance.  
Lefou stumbled giddily, a shocked laugh spilling from his mouth.

Stanley hooked his arm round one of the beams of the milliner’s and swung round into the doorway.  
‘I must get back to work…’ He flashed another precious smile at Lefou – this one apologetic – and disappeared inside. Lefou watched him go. His heart thrummed in his chest. This was- he’d  _never_ felt like this before. He might've passed what happened at the ball off as a result of the extreme heat, or too much punch, or just a one-off occasion that would stay gilded in his memories forever.   
This, though. This was different. It was thrilling whenever Stanley opened up to him. He wanted to see Stanley doing  _everything_  - laughing, crying, having bumped his knee on a table, waking in the morning, going to bed at night. He didn't feel a need to prove himself, or be part of a team. Lefou just felt the need to be present. To be in the company of the person he l- 

Lefou buried his head in his hands. He’d – he’d go round to the milliner’s tomorrow. Speak to Stanley. Sort this all out.

* * *

 _ Stanley_  


He’d returned to the village from the palace before anyone else. Stanley only learnt of Gaston’s death when Tom and Dick came down the road with a body slung between them.

They’d dug the grave together, waving away Père Robert when he came to help. They were the ones who had been caught up in Gaston’s violent whims, after all.  
It was hard work – the midday sun beat down on them and baked the ground rock solid.  
The final grave was probably a little shallower than most when they were done, but it did the job well enough. Stanley’s shirt was plastered to his back, grey with dusty soil, and acrid with the stench of sweat. He peeled it off as soon as he got through the door (to the disgusted shrieks and laughter of his sisters, who threw towels at his head and told him to bathe  _immediately_ ) and headed to his room with a basin of water.

As he washed, he realised the sleeve of the dress he’d hurriedly stowed in his trunk was sticking out.

  
He’d hidden the outfit as soon as he’d returned. It was difficult to undress on his own, especially with his original clothes crushed and bulky underneath. The dress forced his shoulders back in an unusual way, and he was terrified of ripping the seams or ruining the silks. Once he’d managed to unpin the dress, though, he’d faced the challenge of unlacing the tightly boned stays. By the time they were off, he was red in the face, his arms were sore from reaching back to unlace each eyelet, and he felt ridiculously overheated.

After he’d washed the dirt and sweat away from gravedigging, Stanley leant back on his bed. He wasn't proud of what he had done. He should have noticed when Lefou grew more sullen and quiet - that things weren't right, that he had to step back and think about what he was doing. It wasn't a good excuse, to claim he was simply too caught up in the mass hysteria to realise he was going against what the man he loved wanted, but it was all he had. He buried his face in his pillow. He prayed to anyone that would listen that Lefou would still want to associate with him.   
Refusing to think of the alternative, Stanley screwed his eyes shut and thought of happier things. Lefou in the bar, his dark curls loose and mussed, breathing heavily from exertion, pretty and pink and free with his affections. The taught weight of petticoats on his hips, the stiff restraints of boning below frothy silks. 

He woke after dark, to the sound of his sisters dramatically sobbing over the death of a man they barely knew. 

 

Stanley lazily fanned himself with his hand, only half-listening to Tom and Dick whinge about the heat.  
‘ _Black_ velvet suits! Whose idea was that?! At midsummer, too!’ There was sweat trickling down Dick’s forehead. ‘Stop that waving about, Stanley, you’re making me feel warmer.’  
‘Hush, you. Just be grateful that the Prince allowed you all to take your jackets off*!’ Mama extended her fan and flapped it in their faces.  
‘Easy for you to say. You’re wearing  _white cotton._ ’ Dick muttered.  
Holding a ball while the sun was up didn’t strike Stanley as the most sensible practice for Belle and the Prince, but he couldn’t deny how beautiful everything was. It felt a little awkward to return to the palace (especially after the knowing wink Mme. de Garderobe had shot him), even if Belle had assured them no grudges were held.

Mama sighed, downed her punch, then pulled all three of the lounging men from the bench lining the side of the ballroom.  
‘There are too many eligible ladies standing at the sidelines for you three to just be sitting there! Up! Up you get!’  
Stanley joined Tom and Dick in their chorus of groans. The heat wasn’t bothering him that much, but there was only really one person he wanted to dance with. They certainly were not an eligible lady.

Still, he joined the dance. In his mind's eye, he was dancing with Lefou. First, he imagined them dancing as they were right now - matching suits and shirtsleeves, surrounded by a ballroom of dancers. As he moved, though, his thoughts shifted. They were alone now, the ballroom lit by a beam of moonlight through a tall pane of glass, slowly moving in the cool evening air. He imagined Lefou in a richly embroidered suit, and himself in a matching gown. The rich rustle of silks dragging against the marble floor slabs felt and sounded almost real, even through his daydream. 

He felt himself misstep when the time came to switch partners, but he followed the motion through before his courage failed him. He pulled Lefou into his arms. Heart pounding in his ears, Stanley held on and carried on with the right steps. This felt like fate. Lefou fit so perfectly in his grasp. Stanley hoped his hands weren't too clammy from the sudden knot of nerves that had caught in his throat. Speaking was impossible - he didn't dare ruin this sublime moment with his inevitable botching of a conversation. He'd have to communicate his feelings just by looking, for now. 

Even after their dance had ended, Stanley sought out Lefou in the crowds, hungry just for the sight of him. Every moment he spent in Lefou's company cemented his feelings, and every sight of him was precious. Nerve-inducing, yes, but made all the more precious for it. 

 

Lefou was so gentle in everything he did. Even his criticisms were laid with a deep consideration for the other parties’ feelings. It was one of the many – very many – things Stanley loved him for.  
That said, he probably could have removed the splinter on his own. Watching Lefou carefully remove the tiny sliver of wood with his tongue poking out between his teeth overwhelmed Stanley with the urge to grab his chin and kiss him. Instead, he stuck his now-bleeding finger into his mouth.  
If both his hand and his mouth were occupied, he had no risk of acting on his ever-deeper running emotions.

The intimacy that was developing between Lefou and Stanley, though, was also running ever-deeper. Never in his wildest dreams could Stanley imagine teasing Lefou without clamming up. It was amazing. He loved Lefou’s shocked and surprised little laughs that bubbled up from his chest.

Later that night, when he was preparing to sleep, a thought seized him. He threw open his trunk and dug around until he’d pulled out all the components of the gown. Since it was first – well – ‘gifted’ to him, it had languished in his trunk. He lacked the courage, the stamina, and the flexibility to put it all on by himself. Still. He was determined to try again.

* * *

 _Lefou_  


This was it. He'd brainstormed every possible outcome to this conversation, checked his hair five times, and, as a last-ditch effort, collected a small bunch of tiny white flowers that were hidden in his coat sleeve. He couldn't let this opportunity slip past him. Taking a final deep breath, he strode out of his house and headed for the milliner's. 

It was still fairly early in the morning - there were still some straggling farmers hunched over the last of their breakfasts before the long day ahead - but the milliner's shutters were open. Through the windows he saw the sisters, and Mme. Vivienne, but he couldn't see Stanley. He steeled himself, and walked in. 

'Bonjour!' He was sure his smile was more of a grimace, but he persevered. 'Is Stanley around?'  
Mme. Vivienne beamed as he came in. 'Of course! He's upstairs at the moment - do feel free to go on up. It's the door on your left.'   
He bowed and hurried on up. It wasn't hard to miss the door on the left, but he hesitated before knocking. Could he do this? As he questioned his resolve, the sounds of muffled swearing grew louder from behind the door.   
He knocked hastily.   
'Um... Stanley? It's Lefou. I- er - I was wondering if I could come in?' Lefou heard something crash over, and he winced. There was a long moment before a defeated voice called out to him.   
'Yes. Come in.' 

Lefou almost didn't spot Stanley at first, until he spotted the leg still hooked onto the bed. Stanley was sprawled out on the floor, his abdomen seemingly wrapped in linen tape. 

'Could you help me up?' Stanley was studiously avoiding Lefou's gaze, his arms crossed - as best they could, being as they were also tangled in fabric tape - defensively across his chest.   
Lefou hurried to help Stanley up. With one hand supporting his waist, he realised that the tape was partially covering up stiff reed stays. They jutted out at an unnatural angle, though, and Lefou realised they weren't laced correctly.   
Once Stanley was up, he sat on the bed and started trying to untangle himself from the ties. His movements were jerky and upset, and he still had his face resolutely turned away from Lefou.   
'Oh! Here's one end of the tape.' Lefou leant in and yanked at a loose end, causing the fabric to chime as it slid through the eyelets. The movement traced his knuckle down the silky skin at the top of Stanley's spine. His mouth suddenly went dry. He could see the gooseflesh rise on Stanley's exposed shoulders.   
Between the two of them, they eventually freed Stanley from the stays. He ripped them off almost violently, moving to slam them back into the open trunk sitting at the foot of his bed. Lefou noticed how bad his hands were shaking. 

'Do you... would you like me to help you lace them up?' Stanley looked more vulnerable than he'd ever seen before. Eventually he gave a stiff nod, slipped back into the stays, and handed Lefou a bodkin. Lefou tied the tape at one end, and began spiralling the bodkin through the eyelets. The almost-music of the cord filled the silence for a while. 

'These fit you very well - did you make them yourself?'   
'No. It was part of the magic back at - back at the castle.' Lefou could see Stanley biting on his nails nervously. 'Why did you come here?'   
Lefou gritted his teeth. Now or never. He was thankful for the repetitive task keeping his hands busy, else he'd be gnawing on his nails too. 

'I thought we maybe need to talk - that is, acknowledge - about whatever this is.' Stanley half-turned to look at him. 

'This?' He gestured down at the stays. 'Or  _this?'_ He waved a hand between himself and Lefou.   
'The latter.' Face burning, Lefou focused on tying off the lacing instead of looking at Stanley. 

'I. Um. I suppose that does depend a little bit on this, too.' Stanley once again gestured to the stays.

'In what way? I mean. Um.' Lefou fumbled for the right words. 'You look beautiful - I mean you always do, but, especially now. Uh. Do you have dresses to go over it, or-' 

His being sat down on the bed with a sudden lapful and mouthful of be-corseted Stanley cut him off. His face was cupped in both of Stanley's hands. He could still feel them shaking. Stanley giggled nervously.   
'I can't believe I did that.' He frowned, and amended. 'I can't believe I'm  _doing_ this. With you. It's even better than the dreams.' 

'Dreams?-' Lefou was pushed backwards and shut up with another kiss. Oh well. He'd have time to find out. Not just about that, but every detail he'd yet to learn about the not-so-cool and collected man he loved. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Fun fact of the day: men’s suits were always three piece. Jackets were non-negotiable! Since it’s meant to be summer (and most balls are held after dark!) I thought overheating would be a sensible reason for pretty much no one to be wearing jackets apart from Adam :D More info on men’s suits (and their construction) can be found at marquise.de (as can most things about 18th century costume!)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! It was really fun to write (even if I think it might have ended up a little more angsty than funny... :/ )


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